


Full Moon Brawl

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Series: To the Moon and Back: Werewolf Mickey [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Werewolf Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: “What's wrong?” he asks. Before Mickey can give any kind of response, he hears another vicious growl, and something leaps out of the shadows at him





	Full Moon Brawl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KissMyFrogPhotography](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyFrogPhotography/gifts).



> I told myself I wasn't writing any more of this until I finished the next chapter of my long fic, but then I needed cheering up, so here we are. 
> 
> RebeccaWInchester07 wanted sick Mickey being cared for by the Gallaghers, and Mickey having a fight with Terry. I sort of blended these together and had Mickey injured instead of sick.
> 
> (If you've given me a suggestion, I've made a list and am working through them, so don't worry, I haven't forgotten!)

“Ey, man, what the fuck is up with you?” Mickey asks, as Ian does his third lap of the living room, fingertips drumming against his thigh. He pauses. Runs a hand through his hair. Sighs.

“I dunno, I'm just restless,” Ian says. He's only just stopped, but he already wants to move again, can feel the restless energy coursing through him, vibrating beneath the surface.

“You okay?” Mickey frowns. His brow furrows in concern. “Like, your meds and shit okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. It's not like it's been a consistent thing, just started this evening.”

“You wanna go for a walk or something? Once I, y'know.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Maybe a run?” Ian's mouth quirks up in a smile, and he raises his eyebrows. The only time he can ever get Mickey to go running with him is when he's got four legs.

“Alright, Roadrunner. C'mere.”

Ian grins and crosses to Mickey, who catches him by the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a lingering kiss.

“Meep meep,” he says against Mickey's lips. There is a second of stillness, before Mickey laughs, and Ian grins widely.

“Fuckin' dork.”

“Meep meep.” Ian pecks little kisses over Mickey's cheek, mimicking a bird. He dots them down along the side of his throat. “Meep meep!”

Mickey laughs and turns his head away, but his hands slide into Ian's hair, fingers resting against his scalp. Ian nuzzles his face into Mickey's neck and inhales. He swears the closer the full moon gets, the more he can smell the animal scent on Mickey; as if the wolf is coming closer to the surface. He hums, enjoying the scent, pressing a kiss to the base of Mickey's throat. His tongue darts out, and he drags it up the column of Mickey's throat. Mickey exhales, open mouthed, head tipping back.

“Don't start somethin' you can't finish, Gallagher.”

“Oh, I can finish it.”

“Not now you can't.”

“Time?”

“Yeah.” Mickey tugs on Ian's hair, tilting his head up so he can kiss him hot and insistent, tongue pushing its way into Ian's mouth before he slides away from him. “To be continued.”

Ian groans, frustrated, but lets Mickey move away. He follows him upstairs, waiting in the hall for him to change. Once he hears the scratch, he lets himself into their bedroom and changes into sweats and a hoody. Mickey bounces around his legs, excited by the prospect of a walk. He jumps up, paws on Ian's chest. Ian laughs and rubs at his neck with both hands. He hugs him close and presses a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey tips his head up and licks sloppy dog kisses over Ian's face until Ian gently pushes him away.

“Ready?”

Mickey pants, his tongue lolling out, and answers by running ahead to the hall. Ian hears the thudding sounds of him running down the stairs. He laughs and follows, albeit quieter than Mickey's canine excitement. He's waiting by the front door for Ian, tail wagging furious. He grumble growls his impatience. Ian scratches his head as he walks past and opens the door. Mickey bounds out into the night. He runs down the path and into the street, where he runs a few wide circles. He looks at Ian, barks for attention, then makes a show of chasing his tail. Ian laughs and gives him another neck rub and kiss to the head.

“Ready?”

Mickey barks again, lifting his front legs in a few bouncy jumps. He waits for Ian to start running before he follows suit, dropping into place half a step behind him, following his lead. He breaks away occasionally to investigate different smells; dashing off to sniff at a fence or a lamppost, and at one point to chase a cat, which Ian is certain is just for show. He always comes back to Ian's side.

They've been running for a good half an hour and Ian is starting to head back towards the house when Mickey stills. He sniffs the air, then growls, his body going tense. Hackles raised. Ian pauses, looking first around him, then back at Mickey. He can't see anything. Doesn't know what it is that has Mickey so defensive.

“What's wrong?” he asks. Before Mickey can give any kind of response, he hears another vicious growl, and something leaps out of the shadows at him. Ian's hit hard by the weight of it and it knocks him off the sidewalk, sends him sprawling onto the road. The air is forced from Ian and he gasps to draw it in again. Hot, rotten breath pours over his face; it smells like old, raw meat that is starting to go off. He looks up at dirty, yellow teeth dripping saliva, and cold grey eyes. The wolf is a bit bigger than Mickey, and while the base of his coat looks like it may have been black once, he is so flecked with grey that it is now the dominant colour. He opens his jaw and Ian can see the dark passage of his throat.

Just as the wolf is about to snap at him, Mickey leaps. He hits the wolf hard in the shoulder and the pair of them go rolling off of Ian, both growling and snapping viciously. Mickey bites at the scruff of the other wolf's neck, catches it between his teeth and pulls, growl vibrating through him as he shakes his head. The grey wolf brings his head up swiftly, his skull butting against Mickey's chin and sending him sprawling back. He is quick to leap forward again, batting at the grey wolf's head with his paw. The grey wolf gives him a hard swipe to the side of his head, knocks him off balance, then springs forward to bite his ear. Mickey yelps in pain. The noise stirs Ian into action.

He gets to his feet and slowly circles his way around them, moving down the alleyway the wolf had come from. He can hear the sounds of fighting in the street behind him, but knows without a weapon, there's nothing he can do against a full grown wolf. Among the garbage there is an old couch, half the soft covering missing from it, the wooden frame bare to the elements. It's half rotted and part of the wood breaks away when Ian kicks at it, leaving him with a stick about half a metre long, with a few nails sticking out of it for good measure. Not great, but better than nothing.

As he steps back out onto the street, the wolves are raised on their hind legs, both batting at each other with their front paws between snarling, angry snapping. The grey wolf pushes Mickey backwards again, goes for the side of his neck. Ian swings the stick at his back. Attacking an animal is not something he would usually do, but the instinct to protect Mickey drives him forward. The wolf jerks away, surprised by the unexpected blow. When his head turns towards Ian, his lips roll back to bare almost all his teeth. He presses low to the ground, hackles raised, ready to pounce. Ian holds the stick out in front of him.

“Fuck off,” he says, giving it a warning swing. The wolf doesn't jump back, knowing he's out of range. Clever, but Ian already suspects he's another werewolf, so that doesn't surprise him. His eyes flick briefly to Mickey, who is walking forward again, keeping weight off his front left paw. The moment of distraction is enough; the wolf springs forward.

So does Mickey, knocking him away from Ian again. His front legs take most of his weight when he lands, the left one giving out and sending him rolling away. The grey wolf rises, ready to take advantage of the weakness. Ian brings the stick down on his head. He whines and winces away. The nail catches his snout and leaves a welt, blood bubbling to the surface. Ian has never heard anything sound as vicious as the angry noises ripped from the grey wolf's chest.

Despite his injury, Mickey is persistent. He comes back, tackling against the wolf again. They roll across the road in a flurry of snapping jaws that Ian can't keep up with; their yelps and growls mixing into a mess of noise. When they stop, both breathing hard, Mickey is standing over the grey wolf, paw on his throat. His teeth are bared, leaning down close to the grey wolf's face. The grey wolf struggles briefly, then lays still, submitting. Mickey holds the position for a moment before removing his paw.

The grey wolf rises, moving stiffly. He, too, seems to be limping as he takes a few steps away. He looks over his shoulder at Ian, grey eyes steely. Mickey growls, steps after him and snaps at his tail. He scurries forward, glances once at Mickey, then takes off down another side street. Mickey stands, lit only by the pale glow of the moonlight, breathing hard. Ian can see the puff of his breath in front of him. Then he whimpers once, so soft Ian almost doesn't hear it, and turns to limp back to him.

Ian kneels down, running his hand through Mickey's fur, checking for injuries. Mickey nuzzles his snout against Ian's palm. He comes away wet with blood, but against Mickey's dark fur, he can't see where the injury is.

“Are you okay?” Worry lends a frantic edge to Ian's voice. Mickey gives his cheek a tired lick of reassurance.

The walk home is slow. Ian doesn't have the strength to carry Mickey the whole way. He's less damaged, but still aching from his fall. Mickey nudges him away when he tries to help, and stubbornly limps along beside him, trying to keep the weight off of his front left leg. When they're less than five minutes from the Gallagher house, Ian ignores his protests and lifts him. They don't gain much speed, and his arms are protesting by the time they make it back, but he feels better than having Mickey do more damage to his leg.

Ian crashes through the front door, badly navigating while carrying Mickey. He stumbles through the dark to the couch and gently lays him down. Footsteps sound on the stairs, and Fiona hits on the light, holding the Gallagher baseball bat in one hand. She lowers it when she sees Ian.

“Fuck sake, Ian, you scared the shit out of me. The fuck is with all the noise?”

“It's Mickey.” Ian looks up at her, pale and frightened. His clothes are a little dirty, and there's a few scratches on his palms from trying to catch himself as he fell, but mostly he's escaped injury. Thanks to Mickey. “He's hurt.”

Fiona drops the bat and moves closer. Mickey is lying on his side on the couch. He whines pitifully, and leans forward to lick at his injured leg.

“What happened?”

“We, uh. We got attacked, by another wolf.”

“Another werewolf?”

“Yeah, I think so. He attacked me first, but Mickey fought him off.”

“Jesus.” Fiona comes to his side. She takes his face in her hands and turns it side to side. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Ian says, batting her away. “Mickey's hurt his front leg, and he's bleeding, but I can't see where from. I need a wet flannel.”

“Right.”

Fiona returns quickly with the flannel, and Ian dabs it around Mickey's head, patting up the blood that he can't find the source of. Sometimes Mickey whines and flinches, but he lets Ian clean him without much protest.

“I don't know what to do about your leg,” he admits softly.

“Better leave it to the mornin'. You'll be able to help him more in human form.” Fiona's hand is warm on his shoulder, and she gives it a firm squeeze. “And we can give him some pain meds then, too.”

“Yeah.” Ian rubs at his face, tense with worry. “Yeah, I guess.”

Mickey leans up and licks his cheek softly, his form of agreement. Ian carries him upstairs and lays him in bed. He strips to a t-shirt and boxers and lies behind Mickey, gently stroking his fur over his ribs, trying to offer some form of comfort. Despite his ordeal, Mickey falls asleep swiftly. Ian drifts now and then, but is awake more than he is asleep, too worried about Mickey to get any peaceful slumber.

Because of that, he sees Mickey change for the first time.

He can only see from Mickey's shoulders up, the rest tucked away beneath the blankets. He twitches in his sleep, whimpers softly. At first Ian is worried his injuries are causing him pain, then he thinks he may be having a nightmare. Then Mickey's eyes fly open and he exhales harshly. As the first bone rips through the shoulder of his skin, Ian understands what's happening. He feels bones break beneath his hand, and swiftly withdraws it. The sounds are so much louder, so much more stark when he's beside Mickey than when he's on the other side of the door; the snap and crunch of bones breaking to reform, the sickening tear of skin as the growth of new bones burst through, sounding like a zip being swiftly pulled up.

Ian understands now why Mickey could never describe to him what his changes were like. Even witnessing it himself, Ian knows he has no words to accurately capture the spectacle of it, the very ordeal of the change. It only lasts a handful of seconds; so swift he could almost blink and miss it, but in the fragment of time, he watches Mickey's body torn apart. There is no blood, just bone bursting through, jagged edges curving into new joints. The fur retracts and skin grows across the new skeletal structure, stitching itself together. Mickey's breathing is pained and uneven throughout the whole thing, and then he is left on the bed, panting and a touch sweaty.

“Shit,” Ian says softly.

“Yeah. Now you know why I didn't want you to see.” Mickey's voice is strained, weary.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“It's fine.”

“Are you okay?” Ian moves closer and strokes a hand down Mickey's jaw. He can see the cuts now. A gash across his forehead, crossing his eyebrow. An even deeper scratch across his nose. Bite marks along his throat, too big to be human, stretched out from the different shape of his human neck.

“I'm fine. It's mostly superficial.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“My dad.”

“What?” Ian's jaw goes slack and his eyes widen with shock. Mickey looks at him, tired and unamused.

“Yeah. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Jesus, yeah.”

“Say he ain't too happy I'm hangin' out with a normal human. Never mind a fuckin' guy, at that.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Ain't your fault he's a fuckin' asshole.”

“You got hurt because of me.”

“Ey, no, shut up. I wasn't gonna let him hurt you. We got each other's backs, alright? That's what we do.” Mickey reaches up to cup his neck with his right hand. Ian leans into the touch automatically, turning his head to kiss Mickey's wrist.

“Yeah, but if I hadn't of wanted to go runnin', it wouldn't have happened.”

“He'd have found me eventually, Ian.”

Ian sighs. He leans down and rests his forehead against Mickey's, careful not to put pressure on the gash there. Mickey presses a soft kiss against his lips, and Ian returns it several times over; brief, gentle, barely there kisses.

“I love you,” Ian breathes.

“I love you.”

“Sure you're okay?”

“Wrist hurts like a bitch, but otherwise, yeah.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, lemme check that.”

Ian checks the rest of Mickey over, finding a few more scratches and bites. He disinfects and cleans them all, before checking Mickey's wrist. Thankfully, it's only a sprain. He puts an elasticated bandage on it and Fiona has V bring over pain meds for him. V does a double check and agrees with Ian that it's only a sprain. Fiona brings him soup to take his meds with, as his jaw is still aching from all the snapping. Liam brings his favourite book and climbs into bed beside Mickey.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, buddy, I'm fine.”

“Good,” Liam says, and pats him on the head before proceeding to read in a very serious tone. Mickey helps him when he gets stuck on certain words.

Ian spends basically all day stuck to his side. He strokes his hair, peppers kisses over any uninjured area in reach, and gives him two apologetic blowjobs, turning down Mickey's offers to reciprocate.

“If this is how I get treated, I should get injured more often,” Mickey teases.

“Don't.” Ian's tone is quiet but serious. He rubs a thumb over the back of Mickey's hand. “I hate seein' you hurt.”

“No promises,” Mickey says. “But I'll try my best.”

“I guess I'll take that,” Ian says, and presses a smiling kiss to Mickey's lips.

 


End file.
